


Hearts #IneffableValentines 2020 prompt 5

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Series: Ineffable Valentines 2020 [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: #ineffableValentines2020, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Hearts, Hospitals, M/M, Minor Character Death, Organ Transplantation, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Valentines, ineffable valentines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:24:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22500172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: Aziraphale needs help, and Crowley rushes to be his knight in shining armour for a high speed drive through London with someone’s life on the line.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Valentines 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618783
Comments: 35
Kudos: 100
Collections: Ineffable Valentines 2020





	Hearts #IneffableValentines 2020 prompt 5

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miele_Petite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miele_Petite/gifts).



Crowley could feel it. Aziraphale, somewhere, and something was wrong. Like a tug in the pit of his stomach, he could feel the angel’s sadness and fear, and whenever he felt that, it meant that Aziraphale was in some kind of trouble and needed help.

He could feel the angel was somewhere not too far away, so he ran downstairs and leapt in the Bentley, which leapt into life with a growl, gunned the accelerator, dumped the clutch, and sped off, following that invisible golden thread through the tightly packed London rush hour streets toward wherever the angel might be.

It turned out to be a hospital. Crowley feared the worst and ran in, following the angel’s scent now, tongue briefly flicking past his lips as it just worked better that way sometimes. He wasn’t above using his demonic and/or serpentine aspects to get him what he needed easier when the situation demanded it.

He skidded to a halt outside a side room, his shoes screeching loudly on the linoleum floor, and peered through the small wired glass window in the door.

He drew a relieved breath, Aziraphale was in there alright, but thankfully just sitting in a chair by a bed, wringing his hands with anxiety. There was a human on the trolley, and he didn’t look to be in a good way. No one healthy had that many tubes and wires attached to them.

The room was also full of doctors, paramedics and other uniformed staff, who all seemed rather on edge and arguing with one another. Crowley hesitated to intrude. Thankfully he didn’t need to. Aziraphale must have sensed his presence too and looked up, locking eyes with the demon through the window in the door. He stood suddenly and rushed out to the corridor. He had clearly been crying.

Crowley swept him into his arms without thinking. “Angel, Angel… what’s wrong?”

Aziraphale didn’t seem in the slightest concerned that he was suddenly wrapped up in Crowley’s comforting embrace. He sniffed. “I couldn’t save him, it was too far past miracles, but there’s another…” he sniffed again. “… I could still save another but we can’t…” He paused to wipe his eyes. Crowley waited for him to get the words out, stroking the angel’s back soothingly without even thinking about what he was doing. He just knew that Aziraphale  _ needed _ it right now.

“What do you need, Aziraphale?” he asked gently, seeking his gaze with concern on his face.

“He was an organ donor. His heart is still healthy, and there’s a woman over in Reading who’s a perfect match, she needs it, but its rush hour, the traffic is all gridlocked from several accidents, and this hospital doesn’t even have a helipad. The nearest organ donor motorbike courier is out of action and there’s no one who can get it there soon enough. I’ve lost one already today, I don’t want to lose another, Crowley, I couldn’t bear it.”

Crowley looked at him seriously. “Aziraphale. Shut up. Get back in there, tell them to get him back on the operating table and get that heart out, and anything else they need, I’ll take care of it.”

Aziraphale looked up into Crowley’s eyes with palpable relief. “Oh, Crowley, you can? Are you sure?”

Crowley released Aziraphale and stepped back, arms wide, a cocky grin on his features. “Anything for you, Angel. Would I lie to you?”

Aziraphale knew by now what the answer to that was. He knew by now that Crowley couldn’t, wouldn’t. He was a demon of his word and whatever he had in mind, Aziraphale trusted him implicitly. He stepped forward and pecked Crowley on the cheek quickly, leaving Crowley stunned into silence, then rushed back into the room to talk to the hospital staff. A bit of celestial persuasion pushing them to trust him too. They didn’t question his presence, who he was or why he was here, they all simply accepted that he was some important part of proceedings, like obedient sheep.

Crowley sat in the corridor and watched as a crew pushed the trolley out through the doors and back to surgery along the hall. He jiggled one leg nervously. He knew he could do this, but he had to wait for the humans to take care of the important bit first. Aziraphale stepped out and faced him. “So, what’s the plan?”

Crowley stood, reached into his pocket and withdrew something. He tossed the Bentley’s keys up into the air and caught them again. “ _ Who _ can’t do 90 miles per hour through central London, Aziraphale?” he asked with a wink.

He’d have paid good money to re-watch the beatific smile that spread across the angel’s face at that point.

It took a little bit of demonic persuasion as well to push the organ donor courier into accepting what was about to happen. All he knew was that there was a solution to his problem and he found himself unable to argue with it. These two strange men had insisted that they were going to take him and the cool box to Reading, and he simply caved and went with the flow. It seemed easier than trying to get his brain to work out why.

The courier found himself sprawled on the back seat of a black and grey vintage Bentley. Every part of his mind was screaming that this was a ridiculous idea, but all he seemed to be able to do was to smile and nod, and cling onto the cooler for dear life, as the maniac with the red hair planted the accelerator deep into the plush merino carpet and the vehicle leapt off like a scalded cat.

And traffic just seemed to… melt.

He wasn’t sure what physics were up to that day, but it certainly wasn’t having anything to do with this car, which seemed to have taken leave of the normal laws of the universe. It squeezed between a London bus and a taxi through a gap that wouldn’t even have accepted the thinnest credit card. It wove around vehicles with a speed that should have generated G-forces that would leave even an experienced RAF pilot passed out with G-loc. It mounted the pavement and managed to slalom between shop displays, café tables, and oblivious pedestrians.

The humans outside the car couldn’t countenance the idea of a car doing well  _ over _ 90mph in Central London, so they simply didn’t see it at all. The courier had seen an old Bentley blower – the supercharged race car that had won at LeMans many decades ago, in a museum once. He knew that these old beasts could in theory reach speeds past 130mph on the track, but he’d yet to believe that even one of those would be capable of what this lump of metal was achieving.

He gripped onto the Jesus handle and swallowed nervously. Much as he wanted to ask what the hell was going on, part of him just kept telling him to accept it and keep shtum. He gripped the box a little tighter with his other hand.

They whizzed around the Hangar lane squareabout (or “Arse-about” as he liked to call it), and were soon barrelling past Fuller’s Brewery in Chiswick, and toward the flyover. They were on the elevated section of the M4, zooming past the multi-level Audi showroom and onward toward the edge of London. Somehow the speed picked up even more as they zoomed past Brentford and on toward Heathrow. Roadworks be damned, the weird guy in dark glasses simply changed down, hoofed it, and charged down the coned off section, which was miraculously clear of construction workers.

Crowley grimaced as he came up on where the M4 crossed the M25 to leave London. Every time he crossed the literally damned road nowadays he always got a little nervous with flashbacks. But nonetheless, he ducked back between the cones and squeezed the Bentley along between the outside lane and the central reservation, in a gap which technically shouldn’t even have been wide enough for a motorbike. But he wasn’t interested in obeying reality today.

They sped past Heathrow approach at the Langley junction, its multi-coloured changing lights a prominent landmark, and onward toward Slough.

Technically the M4 was shut here tonight, for the destruction and re-building of a pedestrian bridge over the motorway as part of the road improvement works, but Crowley merely sped on past the cones and carried on as even Aziraphale gripped his thigh nervously. The human in the back seat whimpered, watching the heavy duty machinery up ahead getting set to pull the bridge down in a cascade of broken concrete and twisted steel.

A JCB mounted jack hammer was deafeningly loud, drilling concrete from the bridge up ahead. Huge lumps weighing tons were crashing down onto the road below, but Crowley didn’t slow down one jot. The courier shut his eyes and hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much.

He heard a deafening crash as the entire bridge collapsed, and opened his eyes to look through the rear window at the cloud of concrete dust rising into the night air behind them from several hundred tons of obliterated bridge. The Bentley didn’t have a scratch. The red headed driver merely rolled his neck and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. He glanced down at a ridiculously ostentatious and expensive watch on his wrist, pulled a face, muttered something under his breath, and the car seemed to respond by adding another burst of acceleration, pinning all 3 occupants firmly back into their seats. The needle had gone past the end of the speedo.

The junction for Reading was coming up fast near Three Mile Cross, and another arse-about to negotiate. Crowley ignored the multitude of complicated lane markings and arrows on the ground, and sped around it the wrong way.

Finally,  _ finally _ , the car came to a screeching halt in a cloud of tyre smoke outside the Royal Berkshire Hospital, and the courier found himself being helped out of the back seat by the kindly blonde haired gentleman, who supported him with strong but gentle hands, while his legs shook weakly. The skinny Goth type strode ahead and snapped his fingers at the door which stated “exit only”, causing it to open ahead of them. He then led them through the hospital. He looked back at where the courier was staggering along with Aziraphale’s support, hissed in frustration and strode back to them. He grabbed the courier’s other arm and the pair of them almost lifted the helpless guy down the corridor at high speed to the nurse’s station in A&E.

“Heart. Where d’you want it?” Crowley demanded, grabbing the paperwork from the courier’s hands and shoving it in her face. A young doctor behind the desk with the receptionist looked at them wide-eyed. “Already?” she gasped. “Oh god, we hadn’t expected you to be able to get it here this fast, she’s still in pre-op, thank you! Here, let me…” She grabbed the cooler and made off down the corridor.

The courier slumped between the angel and the demon, who carried him over to a chair in the waiting room and lowered him into it gently. “Uh…” he managed. Aziraphale sighed and wandered off to try to find a calming cup of tea for him somewhere. Crowley sat down next to him. “Um… thank you?” the courier gasped at last. “How did you  _ do _ that?” Crowley shrugged. The courier stared at the wall in shock. Presently, Aziraphale came back with a steaming cup of tea and pressed it into his unresisting hands.

“So now we wait and see, I guess?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale took a seat next to him. Aziraphale nodded. The courier sipped at his hot tea gratefully, still at a loss for words. Crowley nodded at him. “Need a lift home?” he asked.

The plastic cup full of tea hit the floor.

“NO!” The courier gasped, terrified. “No, please no, please, anything but that, no, I’ll… I’ll… get a lift from the PTS drivers or something, please don’t make me get back in there.” He stood up, wide eyed, and fled down the corridor toward the patient transport service ambulance parking area at the other side of the hospital.

Crowley was affronted. “Suit yourself” he muttered.

Aziraphale smiled at him warmly. “Thank you, Crowley. It really does mean a lot to me, you know.”

“Shut up.” Crowley rejoined without any hostility, trying not to smile. “D’you want a cuppa too? We might as well, while we wait, I mean. Not that hospital rubbish either, there’s a proper café down the road, I’ll go get you some nice Earl Grey, eh? And a pain au chocolat, what d’you say?”

Aziraphale smiled back at him. “Oh, would you? That’s terribly ki…” he broke off, he’d nearly called the demon kind. He thought the better of it. “That’s very ni…” He stopped again. “Yes please.” He finished, lamely. He watched as Crowley stood up and stretched, his shapely buttocks mere inches from Aziraphale’s face, making him feel quite glad he was already sitting down, then sauntered off down the corridor back to where the Bentley was parked outside. Aziraphale couldn’t tear his eyes away from Crowley’s back as he slunk away. Walking like that should surely be illegal, he thought to himself.

Crowley returned presently with the promised tea. He’d also bought Aziraphale a re-usable insulated mug which had a little heart on it with angel wings either side. It was cheesy and tacky and exactly what would cheer Aziraphale up. He plonked a little brown paper bag on his lap which contained a pain au chocolat, a chocolate brioche, a Sicilian lemon muffin, a slice of chocolate brownie and a slice of millionaire’s shortbread.

“I saw what they had and thought if you’d been with me you might have wanted some of the other things instead, so I brought a few.” Crowley took a seat next to him again and sipped his black coffee while Aziraphale beamed and sampled the delights he’d been given.

Crowley then sneaked something from his jacket pocket and placed it in Aziraphale’s lap next to the bag. “There was an antique bookshop near the café, I saw this in the window. They were shut but I got in anyway, don’t worry I left the money behind for it. It was for sale, and it looked like the kind of shop where they actually do sell their books, rather than just hoarding them.”

Aziraphale picked up the small but pretty old looking volume, leather bound with gilt lettering, then looked up at Crowley in silent surprise. He’d been looking for this one for a while. “Crowley…” he began. Crowley waved his hand to dismiss the upcoming sentence.

“Don’t mention it, Angel. You need something to keep you occupied, looks like the surgery is going to be a while so you might as well have something to read other than a 2 year old copy of  _ woman’s weekly magazine _ and  _ top gear _ .”

Aziraphale took a sip of tea and a nibble of pastry, then set both on the coffee table in front of them, and sat back to start reading. Crowley sighed and sprawled his lean frame out along the line of conjoined waiting room chairs, his head on the chair next to Aziraphale, who looked down at him. “Shuffle up, Crowley, that can’t be comfortable, come on.” He patted his lap invitingly. Crowley froze, head tipped back, looking at the angel upside down, incredulously.

“Uh…”

“Nonsense, Crowley, come on.” Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley obediently shuffled up and rested his head on the angel’s soft lap with a contented little sigh. He shut his eyes, then tensed up again as one of Aziraphale’s hands gently wound into his hair and began stroking slowly as he read. He didn’t dare open his eyes. He breathed out, long and slow, and tried to relax. It was nice. Unprecedented, but nice. He drifted off.

Crowley awoke some time later, Aziraphale’s hand was resting lightly on his chest, a warm, comforting weight over his heart, which immediately began hammering in a mild panic at the situation he’d found himself in. Aziraphale must have noticed as he looked down and smiled. “Are you ok, Crowley?”

“Nnngh”

“The nurse just came through and I managed to persuade him to give me an update. The surgery is over and she’s in recovery. It looks like it went ok.” Aziraphale smiled wider. “Thank you, Crowley, without you, she might not have made it.”

Crowley sat up stiffly and stretched. “Don’t mention it, Angel.” He muttered again. He swivelled upright next to Aziraphale, and reached for his coffee again. He hadn’t bought his in an insulated cup so he merely miracled it hot again and gulped it down. He noticed that Aziraphale had left precisely half of each pastry for him. He had a nibble of brioche.

Aziraphale set the book aside. “Shall we go home then? When you’re ready, that is?”

Crowley finished his coffee and nodded. “Sure. You take the rest of the food though, I’m good now. C’mon let’s go.” He stood and ambled toward the exit.

They got out to the car just as the first rays of dawn were brightening the sky in the East, painting the clouds salmon pink. Crowley unlocked the doors with a wave. The Bentley didn’t have central locking, it was far too old, but that never stopped Crowley before. He opened the passenger door for Aziraphale, who hesitated, still nervously holding the ridiculous angel-winged heart mug in his hands with the little paper bag of half-pastries. “Crowley…” he began, hesitatingly.

Crowley looked at him, his head tipped to one side questioningly.

“I know you don’t like me saying this, but I must. That really, honestly,  _ was _ very nice of you.” He stepped forward abruptly, giving Crowley absolutely no time to respond. He had opened his mouth to reject Aziraphale’s comment, only to find his mouth stopped by the angel’s lips on his own, choking off the words in his throat with surprise. He startled for a second, and then sank into the kiss gratefully.

They kissed for a while and Crowley lost all track of time. He never wanted it to stop. Eventually, however, it did. Aziraphale broke off and gazed at him lovingly. “Angel…” Crowley breathed, holding him tight. “Why…? I mean, I’m not complaining, not at all, that was amazing, but what brought that on?”

Aziraphale gave him another quick kiss. “I’ve wanted to for some time, darling. Several centuries at least, probably far more. I just couldn’t hold back any more. You’re such a beautiful creature, and you really do care, you really do love. No one who did what you did tonight could ever be incapable of love. It’s taken me some time to see it, but finally I really do. I’ve been blind to everything you do for me. You’re the most un-demonic demon I’ve ever met, and you make me want to be a better person. I love you Crowley.”

Crowley floundered. Part of him wanted to deny all the lovely things that the angel was flinging at him, the other part of him knew that it really didn’t matter anymore. Hell didn’t want him, hell didn’t  _ care _ how nice he might want to be. He could do what he wanted, and if he wanted to make his angel smile, and help save the odd human life, fuck it, he was going to do it, and raise a middle finger to hell and everyone in it.

“I love you too, Aziraphale.” He managed.

“I know, darling. I know. You’ve been showing me for millennia, sweetheart.”

Crowley drew his angel into another kiss and lost himself into the love that he radiated as the sun broke through the clouds. Inside the hospital, someone woke up in recovery with a new heart, one blessed by an angel.


End file.
